


An Experiment in Failure

by o0katiekins0o



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Bisexuality, Cunnilingus, F/F, F/M, Open Relationships, Post-Canon, Protective Sherlock, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 17:03:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2076027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/o0katiekins0o/pseuds/o0katiekins0o
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary's hen night provides an opportunity for Molly to take advantage of her and Tom's new arrangement. Unbeknownst to her it has potentially devastating fallout. Can Sherlock set everything right before it can come back to haunt her?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Busy Work

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as kind of a funny idea that snowballed into something more angsty and complicated. Smut in later chapters.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary gives Sherlock an assignment. Just a bit of busywork to stave off the boredom...

221b was as quiet as settling dust as it's only occupant lounged in his pyjama pants and dressing gown at half past 2 in the afternoon. Sherlock was at his laptop surfing lazily and seemingly unaware of the sandwich and tea Mrs. Hudson had placed on the end table near his elbow. 

From downstairs he could hear the front door open and Mrs. Hudson exclaim "Oh hello dear!" There was some kind of sociable exchange, he lost interest as it seemed like it would carry on longer than a few minutes. He returned to researching (fiddling) on his laptop, placing the social visit below him on quasi-mute until he heard someone lumbering up the steps. Based on the gait and the heavy breathing he deduced it must be the heavily pregnant Mary Watson, alone at his flat on a weekday.

 Curious.  

She didn't bother knocking, and entered as if it were her own flat. "Rude." Sherlock stated in the same unaffected tone as if he were noting a cloud formation. Mary scoffed "Oh suddenly you're Emily Post." She flopped down on the chair beside him without so much as a by-your-leave. 

"I could've been undressed." He noted. "And my knocking would have done nothing to change that." Mary's rebut was cool, casual and not in the least bit false. Sherlock was many things, modest was not one of those things. Not in any nuance of it's meaning. Without looking away from his laptop he lifted one shoulder and raised his brow in submission to her infallible reasoning.  

"So... Whatcha working on?" Mary asked playfully. Sherlock sighed and broke his gaze from his laptop. "Mary, please spare me your attempts at small talk. You know I find it tedious." He put special emphasis on the last word that is usually reserved for words like 'pus' and 'taxes'. "Aw but you're getting so much better at it!" Mary's voice chimed merrily. Sherlock sighed and steepled his hands beneath his chin, he looked up at his friend offering his undivided attention.

"Mary Watson, to what do I owe the pleasure?" It was shocking how little effort it seemed to take for Sherlock to turn on the charm. "Very good! High marks for effort!" she praised. He took her facetious compliment and pleasedly smirked. "Now, the reason for my visit..." She pulled her handbag into her lap and dug into one of it's pouches revealing a small black flash drive.

Couldn't be any larger than a few gigs in memory capacity so clearly not one Mary had purchased for her own purposes. "Video from my hen night!" She tossed it to him and he caught it, brow furrowed. 

"Hmmm k..." He responded urging her to clarify. "I would like you to edit it for me. I hired a videographer for the night but he and I had a minor... Disagreement toward the end and rather than editing it for me he just gave me raw footage." 

Sherlock rolled his eyes "Mary, I'm rather busy at the moment. I have no desire to comb through hours of footage containing you and your ghastly girlfriends giggling and making phallic jokes."  

"Oh, we both know THAT'S not true!" His bluff was well and truly called. He took the flash drive, practically snatching it from her, in his hand and eyed it carefully, "It was months ago, why do you want it now?" He peered at her with narrow eyes, scanning for something he could deduce.

"Oh, you know, it was my last hurrah. Now I have the baby on the way, God knows how long it will be before I can let my hair down again. It'd be nice to be able to relive it whenever I want. Also, I uh... Don't remember much of it." She rubbed her swollen abdomen with a smile and an absolutely shameless expression.

Her words suggested that she found the idea of impending motherhood daunting but Sherlock knew better. She was thrilled. "Besides" her eyes sparkled with mischief "You never know when you could use black mail material." There it was. The heart of the matter.  

Now Sherlock was intrigued, how could he say no to that? He quirked up one eyebrow and smiled. In any case, she was right, he had nothing better going on at the moment. He curled the flash drive in his fist. "I'll do it." He conceded, as if somehow convinced.

Oh I know. I wasn't asking, love." She hauled herself up from her seat with great effort and bent over to kiss his forehead. She walked toward the door "Make some tea before you leave." He waved dismissively. 

"There's some right next to you, you git!" He turned to see the sandwich and tea on the end table beside him and simply said "Ah" not bothering to wonder when or how it got there in the first place. These things tended to manifest around him. He took it as proof of Einstein's theory of probability; the mathematical probability of random phenomena, rather than the simpler conclusion that Mrs. Hudson must have left it and he wasn't paying attention.

He hooked a lithe finger through the cup's handle and took at heady sip while inserting the flash drive. "Blech, it's gone cold..." he announced to the skull and, for a moment, he considered the mathematical probability that the next cup that manifested inexplicably would be hot, but tabled that thought as he skimmed the video files now popping up on his computer's screen.  

He felt that logic dictated it best to work backward so he clicked on the last file that brought up a video of a very drunk Mary Morstan slurring barely discernable swears into the camera. She raised a hand behind her and slapped the camera from the videographer's hand. He shouted and called her a bitch.

"Ooh, mistake." Sherlock noted gleefully as the sideways view from the floor clearly showed the very drunk former wet-work agent lunging toward him, pounding clenched fists into the unfortunate idiot's gaping face. Sherlock loosed a rumbling chuckle. "Hmm, this is going to be an interesting day."  

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

*The Monday Following Mary's Hen Night* 

Molly entered the morgue loaded down with several gift bags that had been abandoned by Mary following the abrupt and violent end to her hen night. She had been completely pissed and slurring profanities as Molly and Janine shoved her in the back of a cab. Molly handed the cabbie money and told him Mary's address. 

She and Janine stood together watching the cab pull away. There was some discussion between them about what to do with the gifts Mary had forgotten and left unopened in her drunken rage. They agreed that Molly would take them back to her flat and have Mary or John pick them up from Bart's the following Monday. It was a large haul and both ladies were still quite buzzed from the night's earlier activities. Janine kindly offered to help carry the gifts to Molly's flat and Molly enthusiastically accepted.  

It was quite a load to carry on the tube so she opted to take a cab to Bart's that morning instead. Luckily, Sherlock had arrived at the hospital at the same time and offered to help carry the gifts in, although didn't think to ask why she had them. She assumed he'd already either deduced her reason and/or brushed it off as irrelevant.

"Mary is supposed to be by later to pick them up." Molly offered as an explanation but Sherlock seemed to either not hear or care but gave something that could have been a nod. Molly wasn't certain. As soon as they entered the morgue, the bags were carefully placed on the floor near her desk. Molly thanked him for his help and he made a "hmm" sound that she assumed was meant to be some kind of acceptance of her thanks. Without another word he took his usual place in front of his preferred microscope, laying out case files and slides on the work top. 

Unburdened, Molly left for the canteen to get coffee for herself and Sherlock before beginning her own work day. When she returned Mary was already there pawing through the bags. "Oh Molly! Thank you so much for bringing these. I know it must have been tricky getting them all back to your flat by yourself."

Molly cleared her throat nervously and took a large draw from her coffee and gagged. It was Sherlock's coffee. She placed it in front of him and took another drink from her own. "I... Uhm... Ahem... I had a little help." She took another sip of her own cup just for the benefit of having something in front of her face.  

Mary's eyebrows pinched together and she suppressed a smile. "Oh. Did Tom come by to lend a hand?" Molly was shifting nervously glancing sideways in the direction of Sherlock who seemed oblivious.

"Uhm... No. He was... Not there." She took another gulp from her coffee. "My my Molly Hooper, you look like the cat that ate the canary." Molly choked on her coffee and spilled most of what remained on her top. "What? What do you mean?"  

"Relax, it's just an expression. Let's go get you a fresh coffee and you can tell me what's got you so wound up!" Mary was trying hard not to laugh at her sweet friend who was an unfortunate mess at the moment.

Molly gnawed her lip and looked down at the floor. Mary was the first to break the silence. "So, you had help?" "Uhm, yeah" Molly blushed bright red. "Ah I see, so someone came home with you?" Molly gnawed her lip harder and simply nodded.

Mary stepped in front of Molly stopping her in her tracks, forcing her to look her in the eyes.  

"Molly Hooper, you Jezebel! You pulled didn't you?!" Molly turned her head to try and hide her blush and grin. Mary gasped "What about Tom!?" Mary whispered.

"We... Ahem... We have an... Understanding."

Mary's eyes went wide as saucers. "What-uh- what kind of an understanding?"

Molly forced herself to meet Mary's gaze and squared her shoulders. "Just that it doesn't count as cheating if the person I take home is... A woman."

Mary was blown over. She was trying desperately to process what quiet unassuming, mousy little Molly was telling her. This was literally the last thing she ever expected to come out of Molly's mouth. Mary couldn't have been more shocked than if Molly was confessing to murder. 

When Mary finally picked her jaw off the floor she gained enough composure to ask "So, whose idea was this arrangement? Is this some kind of kink for Tom?"

"Mine actually. And, a bit, I suppose. Well, he's not bothered by it, at least." Another wave of shock hit Mary.

"It's just that, we've been having a lot of sex, really and it's been lovely, but it's just-I just feel, right now, like I need a little something... more. Well, not more, Tom is great. I mean different...I guess?"

Mary quirked her eyebrow at her explanation.

"I just think, you know, I didn't experiment all that much at Uni and now I'm just, you know... It's not that Tom doesn't do it for me, he does! He just- No I mean *I* just am... Going through a phase or... something." Molly blurted out tactlessly and not at all convincingly. 

Mary tried not to pity poor Molly. But it was obvious that Tom was falling short in at least one crucial area. "Well, I'm glad if you're having fun. It is fun, right?"

Molly blushed again hotly and nodded enthusiastically. "Good! That's good!" She patted her friends shoulders and smiled genuinely. They continued on to the canteen. "So you pulled... At my hen night. Anyone I know?" Molly's eyes were wide and she opened her mouth as if she were going to say something but Mary cut her off "You know what? Forget I asked." Molly sighed with relief and changed the subject.


	2. A New Angle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock watches the entire video and makes quite a few new discoveries.

Editing this footage for content proved more difficult than Sherlock anticipated. Moments that he might consider interesting or memorable may not be to Mary. 

Mary was brilliant but he doubted she would get the same gratification from deducing her friends' eating and grooming habits and their varying implications, as the kind of fun fitting a hen night video.

He had abandoned his notion of working backward and instead decided to collate the entire 4+ hours of footage into 15 minute segments, categorizing each segment and assigning it a mental synopsis. After removing large segments of silence and inaudible chatter only 3 hours and 23 minutes of footage remained. Still lengthy, even by film standards.

His goal was to weed it down to 90 minutes, give or take. That meant trying to identify the highlights. No easy feat for Sherlock Holmes, considering how much of it was jokes and idle conversation. Not really his area.  

Approximately 73 minutes of the footage consisted of dancing punctuated by breaks for shots or fresh cocktails and something called "body shots" an activity in which Molly and Janine were enthusiastically participating. 

Interesting.

As the footage progressed there seemed to be more and more Molly and Janine becoming closer and closer. Seemingly under the pretense of admiring one another's attire.

Molly's dress was very flattering. Sherlock has rarely seen her in anything besides the practical (if not a bit dowdy) attire she always wore while working at Bart's. 

This night she'd worn a figure-hugging strapless dress, the hem ended just above her knees. It was a matte dark blue with a structured bodice. Her long hair was down in smooth waves that hung parallel to her breasts, framing her in a way that was extremely flattering.

She cut an incredibly feminine figure in her black round toe pumps that secured around her dainty feet with ankle straps.

At first there were glances away from the group's activities, Molly and Janine seemed to have sequestered themselves in a dim corner of the bar taking sips from cocktails and laughing standing unusually close to one another.

Then, as if remembering why he was there, panned back to the larger group being raucous, laughing and dancing. 

As if somehow compelled, the videographer kept panning back to Molly and Janine in the corner. The latter having broken the space between the two, whispering in Molly's ear who was blushing and biting her lip, a finger curled through a tress of hair on her shoulder.

 "Oy!" Mary's voice was heard yelling at the camera man. "Party's this way!" Immediately he jolted back to the group. He held the lens there diligently for just over a quarter of an hour before returning to the lens to Molly and Janine in the corner.   
   
This time they were caught in an embrace. Janine's hand was skating up Molly's thigh who had her fingers laced into the hair on the back of Janine's head and pulled her into a tentative kiss.

It began chaste and sweet with closed lips skimming lightly against each other but Molly opened beneath Janine's gentle pressures and it very quickly became more heated.

The camera zoomed in tightly revealing pink tongues sliding together deeply, hands seeking the curves and mounds of the two bodies pressed tightly together.  

Of course, cognitively, Sherlock understood what he was seeing. Had he never known Molly, or Janine he would have found the sight of two strange women kissing dull. Yet another tedious couple subjecting the public to their cloying displays of affection.

He might have deduced that they were a new couple or that they were making an effort to spice up a boring routine with the thrill of having potential spectators. Sex acts in public are a fetish for some.

However he knew that was not true. They had made some effort at discretion by secluding themselves to the most private corner of the night club. And although he knew the both of them he Was reasonably certain neither of them had ever met before that night.  

Molly had been engaged to Tom at the time and, after years of her clumsy attempts at drawing his own attention he found it difficult to believe that someone like Janine found Molly so tempting. It was clear that Janine had made the first move and Molly's eager acceptance suggested she had at least made some effort at flirting.

Sherlock found himself wondering what that might've looked like. Perhaps Molly was bolder propositioning a person of the same sex rather than a man. What did that imply about her long term plans with Janine?  

With seeming reluctance the videographer zoomed out and returned to his job, filming the crowd of dancing, laughing women. He saw why, Mary's face was clearly discernible, darkly glowering in the direction of the camera. It was clear now what had been the source of their disagreement. She was justifiably displeased with his level of professionalism. 

This time the camera man's feigned resolve was even more poorly demonstrated, for as soon as Mary's head was turned, the camera was veered back to the corner Molly and Janine had been haunting only to find it empty.  

He made a brief snap to the group, clearly to ensure Mary was otherwise occupied, then the cameraman bolted, camera still operating, searching for his favored subjects.

The pulsing beat of the music died to a throb the further he got from the dance floor. There were a limited number of places to go in the dark club and he turned down the corridor toward the loos. A couple of blushing giggling women, not with Mary's party, were rushing out of the room.  

The videographer lowered the camera at the sight of the women. "It's occupied, mate!" One of the women said, and the two women burst into shrill crackles. Slowly and deliberately the cameraman pushed the door to the ladies loo open. The sounds of two familiar voices moaning, almost harmoniously, could be heard reverberating against the tiled walls. He searched the room. Both stall doors were unlatched and left open a crack. The throb of the club's music still audible beneath the breathy sighs and high pitched squeaks and gasps.  

The cameraman's hands were clearly shaking going by the slight shimmy of the frame. Sherlock could not help but mirror the man's reaction. His mouth was dry and he gulped hard against a lump forming in his throat. He tried to mask the action by clearing his throat. 

 PAUSE.

He practically punched the keyboard, breaths coming in rapid, ragged gulps. Shimmying in his seat now that his previously loose pyjama trousers suddenly felt restrictive and uncomfortable. Why in God's name was his flat suddenly so hot? He gulped down the remainder of the cold tea beside him greedily. 

No what he was seeing was not affecting him at all. In fact, he felt like turning it off, slamming his laptop shut and taking up his violin. But, he noted, he was doing this as a favour to Mary. He should at least finish what he's started.

Sherlock wasn't exactly one for breaks anyway. Playing violin was what he did when he needed to think. What would he need to mull over? This wasn't exactly a complex case, or rather, a case at all. It was quite dull, actually. Tedious even. 

Sherlock clenched his fists until his knuckles whitened, swallowing hard once again, he resolved to continue watching. For Mary, of course, is what he told himself. His hand was definitely not trembling as he stretched his fingers out to press the spacebar of his keyboard.  

The sounds of women shrieking and groaning filled his flat. Had it been that loud before? He quickly pressed on the volume down button of his keyboard until the sounds decrescendoed to a more demure volume.

Not that he was worried that Mrs. Hudson would hear and draw... Conclusions, no that would be foolish. He simply recalled how uncomfortable it had made her when The Woman's pleasured sigh had been replaced as his text alert. He was just being... Considerate. Yes. He was just attempting to be considerate... Of Mrs. Hudson.  

Somehow the cameraman had positioned himself and his equipment carefully enough, so as not to be noticed or seen by either women in the slightly ajar door of the loo stall. His subjects were too distracted by their own activities to notice. And going by Molly's expression, Sherlock was not entirely certain Molly would have the presence of mind to care, even if she had noticed.  

In the stall reserved for the disabled, Molly stood with her legs in a wide stance, Janine sublimating herself between them. Crowding Molly against the corner of the stall, head buried in the crook of Molly's neck one arm snaked around her behind, cupping and squeezing the mounds of flesh she found there.

Although Molly's breasts were on the smaller side, she truly had a glorious arse.

What? Nope. Sherlock had no ideas or   
opinions whatsoever regarding Molly's Uhm... Gluteus. His observations were purely scientific. 

Janine's other hand was not idle, tangling in Molly's hair in a fervent kiss that left them both flushed and breathless. Lowering to pinch and stroke at her breasts through the fabric of her bodice. She broke the kiss as she pushed down the neckline of Molly's dress the small pert mounds spilling over it. Molly's pink nipples hard and puckering from the attention they had received. Her chest was flushed and heaving.  

"Oh Molly!" Janine exclaimed, lowering to nuzzle the soft flesh of the left then the right. "You're so sweet, like a lovely little doll, with your pretty little doll tits."

She alternated between gently manipulating one breast in her hand and nipping at the other. Paying each careful attention. Molly was so receptive to her touch, arching her back and smiling and biting her lip, gasping and moaning.

There was a certain easy manner to her countenance that Sherlock found surprising. He wasn't sure why he'd always assumed Molly would be awkward and rigid in a sexual situation, but observing her now she seemed so carefree. As if it were the most natural thing in the world to have a woman she'd just met sucking mercilessly at her tits... Err... breasts... mammaries. 

Janine's hands roamed over Molly's body, finding the hem of her dress and rucking it up hastily. Her narrow fingers working beneath the fabric. Molly inhaled sharply and wriggled her hips granting Janine's, clearly welcome, intrusion further access.

Molly gasped again as Janine discovered that which her elegantly manicured fingers clearly sought. Her ministrations were obscured by the fabric and the angle of the camera but the rhythmic snap of Janine's narrow wrist betrayed her motives.   
        
Molly's hips instinctively jerked upward, she tried to muffle her appreciative groans by nibbling at Janine's throat and ears. Janine shivered.

Molly's hands were frantic over Janine's body, seeking purchase somewhere along the bell of her hips, the small of her back, the curve of her arse. For once seeming uncertain in her actions. Janine caught one of those hands and guided it gently toward where she wanted it. She trailed it down her abdomen and over the mound of her pubis through her own dress. Janine ground against Molly's small, soft hand. "You're so wet for me, Molly." Janine mumbled huskily.  

Eyes hooded with desire Molly kissed Janine fiercely, her hand diving beneath the hem of Janine's dress, the other pressing firmly against Janine's arse, encouraging her to continue her movements.

Janine obliged, thrusting against Molly with her hips as well as her hand. Dazed with pleasure she did not forget herself, Molly searched beneath Janine's dress, seeking recompense, no longer content with merely receiving.  

Surely Sherlock was imagining the sound of slick flesh sliding against fingers. There could be no way he could hear that over the cadence of appreciative moans and growls shared by the two women.

They had found a rhythm, grinding and pressing against each other. "Sweet, wet Molly. You want me so badly." Janine spoke, her words punctuated by a deep thrust of her hips and hands that thundered through Molly's body, she trembled against her. "It would seem the feeling is mutual." Molly responded, increasing her own movements against Janine to a ruthless pace.

Janine buckled and threw her head back, releasing a low animalistic call in the back of her throat.  

Spurred on by her reaction Molly continued, no longer content to allow Janine to lead. Molly pushed Janine's arse guiding her toward Molly's hand in time with her frenzied pace, her small tits bouncing deliciously... Err uhm...freely with her movements.

Molly's face was set in an expression of power Sherlock had never seen. It was extremely sexy... Err... interesting. Janine was now lost, groaning louder at each deliberate thrust toward Molly.

Janine arched her back and called out with release. Knees going limp, Molly had to catch Janine. Her face fell between Molly's breasts as she shuttered hard through her orgasm. Molly's hands wove themselves in Janine's chestnut hair, combing through it meditatively. 

"Naughty Molly." Janine spoke as the haze of sex drained from her. "I thought you said you'd never done this before." Janine's lilting voice was melodic. 

Molly squared her shoulders confidently, clearly gratified by her own performance. "I have a pussy, too." She replied, eyes narrowed and brow arched almost arrogantly. Leaning forward to speak in Janine's ear in a low almost-whisper, "I know what they like." 

"Mmm, I'd say so!" Janine agreed emphatically. They giggled amongst themselves, still tangled in an embrace. The laughter died down when Janine slid down onto her knees before Molly.

She nuzzled a cheek against Molly's mound. "I suppose, turn about is fair play." Janine began to pull the waistband of her knickers down over her thighs. Sherlock was perched precariously on the edge of his chair gnawing at his lower lip, without noticing his knees were bouncing anxiously.  

Although the sights thus far could, objectively, be described as salacious, most actual anatomy was obscured by the camera angle, the women's positions and well, you know, clothes.

Not that Sherlock cared at all whether he saw Molly's cunt, pink and warm, drizzling with desire like a raw honeycomb. Or, in fact, her perfectly ordinary, scientifically unspectacular vagina, reacting as an ordinary vagina normally does under present conditions. 

Molly swung a leg over onto the safety railing enthusiastically, widening her stance and staring hungrily down at Janine who'd gotten Molly's knickers down over her ankles. They were kicked off of the leg Molly had perched on the safety railing and hung forgotten over her right ankle. She buried her hand in the hair on the back of Janine's neck, rubbing her neck methodically as if to encourage, without pressuring her to... to do whatever comes next. 

Janine licked her lips. "Lets see if the rest of you tastes as sweet as those adorable tits." Sherlock gulped, the lump in his throat finally getting respite as his mouth watered anxiously. "Yes, lets!" Molly's voice was hoarse and low. Janine's head dipped beneath Molly's dress. She breathed raggedly with eagerness gently pushing against the back of her head toward her sex, lifting her hips to receive Janine's full lips against her tender flesh. 

"Oh yes!" An enthusiastic whisper exclaimed. The women paused at the sound. "Did you hear that?!" Molly whispered to Janine. Sherlock exhaled with relief that it hadn't been him who'd said it.

"Hear what?" Janine's voice was muffled by the sound of her tongue thrusting forward. Molly arched her back and groaned "ahhh! I-I thought I heard... Fuck it, nevermind!" Her hips moved up and down in time with the motions of Janine's face, still obscured by that bloody dress. Sherlock began to think that dress wasn't quite as suited to her as he once had. In fact, he rather hated it.  

Unlike before, Sherlock was certain he could hear lapping against Molly's folds despite her enthusiastic groaning and Janine humming against her. She was suckling and smacking. Thoroughly making a meal out of Molly who served herself up happily, opening to her widely. Still bucking, still grinding, still guiding Janine's head to the places she wanted her to go.  
    
The sounds of Molly's pleasure were practically musical, Sherlock noted. Her eyes were closed in concentration, losing herself against Janine's mouth. She raised her free arm above her head reaching for something to grasp a hold of and finding nothing but air.

Frustrated she tangled both hands behind Janine's head, Fucking herself on Janine's mouth, the playful teasing of before no longer sufficient. Molly was like some kind of otherworldly creature, equal parts beautiful and terrifying in the rawness of her need.  

Janine's hands, which were at one point, steadying herself of Molly's thighs, were now delicately skating upward, higher and higher. One hand impatiently pushed the bottom of Molly's dress up over her hips. At last Molly was on display for whomever was watching. The delicate curls of her pubic hair were shockingly light colored, a dark dusky almost-blonde crowning her swollen labia. 

Janine spread them with her fingers revealing wet flesh, pearlescent with desire, the same pink as her perfect nipples. Her other hand reached between Molly's legs and abruptly thrust two fingers inside her. Molly nearly threw Janine off of her with the wild bucking of her hips. But Janine stayed the course, pressing her firmly against the wall with her body, unrelenting, unceasing until Molly wailed with the sound of her release. 

Molly huffed, struggling to regain her breathing. "That... Was NOT...fair play!" Molly's mouth cocked sideways in a mischievous grin. Janine licked her lips, delicately wiping the corners of her mouth.

"You're going to have to tell me how you got so good at that!" Molly was still bracing herself against the wall. Knees buckled she was slowly sliding down the wall into a squat, taking the opportunity of her position to hook her foot back into the leg of her knickers and pulling them up. She and Janine rose to their full heights simultaneously.  

Janine closed the space between them to pull her into a searing kiss. "Don't worry, love" she lilted "I'll teach ya. Might as well learn since you're going to be doing this kinda thing more often now." She winked and Molly blushed. "We can go back to mine... After this... I mean... If you want."

Fierce sex goddess Molly was gone, replaced once more by insecure mousy Molly, chewing her lip. Janine kissed her again, this time more sweetly. "Might do", she said "unless I find someone prettier." Molly's face fell a bit but Janine pulled her back in to another kiss, as gentle as the last but deeper.

Sherlock scoffed to himself. She does like that line, doesn't she?  

There were more gentle caresses and giggles but the cameraman seemed to remember himself and got a mind to scarper before he was found out. He didn't get far out of the loo before he was cornered by drunken Mary, screaming and cursing at him for, frankly, being terible at his job.

Sherlock leaned back in the sofa, exhaling fully for the first time since the scene in the bathroom. He had an overwhelming desire to take a very long, very cold shower. Although he had a sneaking suspicion that it wouldn't be enough. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

**the next day*** 

Finished your video.

-SH 

Good stuff?

-MW 

Quite.

-SH 

Do I want to know?

-MW 

Certainly not.

-SH 

Goody! I'll come round after work.

-MW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the smut. This was my first real attempt at writing explicit sex and my only attempt at writing girl on girl.


	3. The Case That Was Not a Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guess what, guys? Plot after all!

When next he heard footsteps coming up the steps to his flat it was that of two people, and not one. Of course, Mary and John work together. It follows that they left work together and are now here together. With John there, Sherlock would have to approach the topic of the material in Mary's video with more delicacy. Not really his area but for Molly, he would try.

"Knock knock!" Mary sang while entering 221b followed by John. Sherlock rolled his eyes but grinned nonetheless. "Hello Watsons. Mary, John." He acknowledged them both. "Yes yes enough of that." Mary interrupted. Obviously not interested in casual pleasantries. "Let's see the goods!"

"About that..." Sherlock began, "The footage shows two of your close friends in a... Comprising position. I'm not certain it's something you actually want to see if you plan on maintaining your friendship with the people in question."

"Oh shit!" Mary swore, plopping down on Sherlock's sofa with a heavy sigh. "It's Molly, isn't it?" Sherlock's expression was all the confirmation she required. 

He looked puzzled at her unusual insight. "Wait! Molly? Really!?" John exclaimed. Sidestepping John altogether Mary continued. "Wow! She told me she pulled at the party and that she and Tom had some kind of understanding. Not surprising that the engagement didn't last long afterward." 

"That's what Janine must have meant when she said she'd teach Molly since she'd be doing that sort of thing more often." Sherlock realized aloud.

John looked as though he'd been slapped in the face, by the way he fumbled at Sherlock's statement he shuffled uncomfortably. "Uhm, just so I know I'm hearing you both correctly. There's a video on your computer of Molly and Janine... Together. In some sort of compromising position?" 

"Yes. Try to keep up." Sherlock snapped. 

"Right. So... You watched a video of Molly and Janine, the only two women I've ever known you to have any kind of affection for, Uhm doing..." 

"Having sex." Sherlock supplied his floundering friend. "And no. Of course, not. Don't be ridiculous." Sherlock stated simply.

But just as John seemed to ease at the situation Sherlock continued, "I've never had affection for Janine."

John was aghast. He thought better than to address Sherlock's curious semantics. "Tea anyone?" He offered and then walked into the kitchen before hearing anyone's answer. 

There was some silence, aside from John clattering about in the kitchen, in which Mary sat perched on the edge of Sherlock's sofa, elbows on her knees, propping her chin on her hands deep in contemplation. She seemed to be debating with herself but shook her head and said "Right. So can I see the edited version, then?" She asked finally. 

"No. Or rather, yes. But I don't have it." Was Sherlock's answer. "What!? Why not? Isn't that why I'm here?"

"Yes but once I'd gotten through it in it's entirety I realized that you must have received the raw footage by accident. Your voyeuristic videographer has your final cut  
still in his possession. John and I can collect it when we pay him a visit." Sherlock's voice was matter of fact. 

"What? Pay him a visit?!" John's head popped into the sitting room from inside the kitchen. Clearly responding to hearing his own name. 

"Yes, John. This rather tedious errand turned out to be quite an interesting case after all."

"Case? What case?", it was Mary's turn to interject.

"I was able to deduce, by the cameraman's uncanny ability to position himself and the camera in an unseen area to record elicit acts was a practiced one. He's done this before. Makes sense, an anonymous yet trusted stranger allowed into private celebrations, not unlike our Mayfly Man. The combination of mirth and alcohol, lowered inhibitions. Perfect conditions for a voyeur like himself to take advantage of unsuspecting people in the throes of passion. Just the smallest bit of research and a few basic hacking tricks confirmed my suspicions."

To illustrate, Sherlock pulled up the cameraman's business page. In the far righthand corner was a tiny icon that would go unnoticed to the average person, not knowing what to look for.

When clicked, a login window popped up. A simple back door hack got them around it and up came a whole new page covered in icons for dozens of different pornographic videos, clearly taken, without the knowledge of the participants.

The website was called "Candid Camateurs" not a very clever play on words, yes, but it got the point across.

The second to last icon near the bottom of the page had a thumbnail of two familiar faces pressed together in a passionate kiss and a description beneath that read "horny birds in hen do loo"    

"He makes money on the side by selling subscriptions to his illegal pornography website." Sherlock explained.

Mary was fascinated and disgusted simultaneously. "I should have vetted him more carefully but he came highly recommended by... Christ, of course!" Mary took to chewing her nails while she thought. "But certainly not, he couldn't have known... Could he?" 

"Who!?" Sherlock and John asked at the same time. Mary looked up from her reverie looking at Sherlock, then John and back to Sherlock. 

"Tom. Tom recommended him. Said he knew the guy, that he did good work. I hired him based on Tom's recommendation..." 

Overwhelmed, John plopped in his old chair. "No." He shook his head. "I can't believe that Tom knew anything about... About this!" He gestured to the web page.

Fuming with quiet fury, Sherlock lept to his feet, shoving on his coat without his usual whirling flourish and marched out of the flat before poking his head back in and saying "Come along, John." As if by instinct John jumped to his feet, throwing his own jacket on and followed Sherlock without hesitation. 

"Nobody mind me, then!" Mary called shaking her head. John popped his head back in to say "I'm so sorry, darling would you like me to-" 

"Oh just go!" She cut him off "I'll just catch up with Mrs. Hudson for a bit then take myself home." She strode over and kissed her husband tenderly. "Go kick that pervert's arse!" And then gave her husband's a playful goose for good measure. 

He grinned and raised his eyebrows suggestively. "Or rather, save his life. Sherlock looks as if he has a mind to tear him in two!" He and Mary shared a knowing glance.

"Sometime today would be ideal, John!" Sherlock shouted from the bottom of the stairs. John rolled his eyes and gave Mary another kiss before disappearing into the dim streets of London.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time John reached the bottom of the stairs Sherlock was already in a cab on his phone. The door was open and John slid in next to him. 

On a case. Care to make an arrest?  
-SH

Where?  
-GL

Sherlock sent Lestrade the location via GPS, gave the cabbie the address and they were off.

The whole affair was quite simple. Almost boring. They gave false pretenses of being there as potential clients and were welcomed into the man's flat. It only took a few euphemistic jokes and the camera man eagerly offered to show them his "side business". 

"Although, I have to say, this one is my favorite." He clicked on the icon that represented Molly and Janine. "They could be professionals, don't you think? I had half a mind to follow them home that night."

"Woah. Ok." John mumbled and tried to turn his back, disguising the action as a cough, and not like he wasn't turning away because the participants were people he respected. 

True, John was no stranger to indulgences of the pornographic variety. But he found it much easier to indulge when he could pretend that the people in question only existed in that context. Thinking about them as regular people with families and pets, and in this case, respected careers like any other person rather ruined it for him.

Sherlock was unreadable behind his icy cold facade. His eyes were narrowed slits of blue steel but his fists were clenched until his knuckles were a bloodless white. "This one is engaged to a man, if you can believe. Lucky sod!" The cameraman gestured to Molly.

"She doesn't look like much but, woof! She's a wildcat! To be honest, I never would have guessed she had it in her. Not really my type, but I wouldn't kick her out of bed. Besides they all look the same with the lights off, eh mate?- Er, sorry, what was your name again?" 

"Sherlock Holmes." For the first time since the video began Sherlock cracked a wry smile.

The name must have rung a bell because the man's face fell. "I've heard of you... You're that bloody detective that's always in the papers!" 

Sherlock never broke his gaze. He simply nodded slowly with a predatory glint in his eye. "And you're sloppy." Sherlock added tossing the flash drive in the camera man's face who instantly recognized it.

"W-where did you get this?" His voice was lame and stuttering. "A client of yours, Mary Watson, nee' Morstan".

Understanding dawned painfully in the man's face. "I knew I should have just given that gobby cunt a refund and walked away!" 

At this, John turned on his heels and smashed his fist into the man's face. Who reeled back in shock as blood shot from his nose. 

"Oh did I forget to mention? This is my friend John. John Watson." Sherlock put particular emphasis on the surname. The man cowered and tried to speak "Listen, we can work this out. We can come to some kind of a-ahhhh!"

John had flipped the chair he was sitting on out from under him and towered over the trembling idiot before giving him a swift kick in the ribs. 

"I'm sorry, I'm really so sorry! Your wife, she's lovely, really!" The man squeaked and gurgled as another kick found it's way to his gut. John pulled him up to his feet by his throat and slammed him against the wall.

"Don't ever speak about my wife again! And these women..." He gestured at the screen "Are our friends!" He ground out through gritted teeth. His voice rumbled in a threatening timbre.

The man didn't speak, just gave a slack-jawed, fish-eyed nod. In fairness, it is hard to speak when a soldier is all but crushing your windpipe. He threw the man back down on the floor in a single fluid motion. Sherlock just stood in the corner eyes glimmering in delight as he watched his friend toss this fool around like a rag doll. 

"You really should count your blessings." Sherlock told the wheezing, bleeding mass on the floor. Despite the mess John had made of his face he still managed a puzzled look toward Sherlock. 

"You're quite lucky it's John here and not Mary. John would just kill you. Mary... Well Mary isn't the forgiving sort like John." Sherlock's look was a terrifying wolfish gleam.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He chanted in a hoarse whisper, curled up in a fetal position and sobbing. 

The gleam of red and blue lights flashing from outside indicated the arrival of the police. "Oh thank God!" The man whimpered. DI Lestrade let himself in and observed the scene before him before casting Sherlock and John an admonishing glance. 

"He was resisting arrest" Sherlock offered as an excuse. "He broke my ribs!" The man screamed pointing at John. "They're not broken, they're fractured. I'm a doctor. I know how to fracture people."

Sgt. Donovan came through the entrance. "Oy freak." She greeted Sherlock, but her tone was not as sharp. It was almost endearing. "Caught us a pervert then? I guess your kind know your own." She winked, referring to Sherlock's new reputation in the tabloids as Shag-a-lot Holmes. Rolling his eyes he gave a put upon sigh.

"Wait what!?" The cameraman asked frantically. "Why am I being arrested? They came into my home and assaulted me!" The man's voice was strained and squeaky. 

The DI stepped over him to the computer Sherlock was standing in front of. "He's a videographer for parties and events." Sherlock began, "He then follows the the drunk and besotted guests back to catch them..  en flagrante, and posts it to his secret web page for which he has..." Sherlock leaned over to check "over 3000 subscribers. And since the source of the money is illicit, you'll want to check his tax returns. I'm certain you scare up a charge or two for fraud and tax evasion."

Lestrade beamed. Sherlock was a right pain in the arse but times like this made up for it. Being handed criminals with air tight charges like they were gift wrapped, made him look good. Very good indeed. Associating with Sherlock often got him in hot water with his superiors, having a high prosecution rate went a long way in maintaining his reputation with the Yard, and by extension, Sherlock's as well.

"Excellent work, Sherlock! I'll have Donovan call in computer forensics to go through the contents."

"Actually, you won't." Sherlock stated.

"Wha'? Sherlock, I'm booking this pervert for running an illegal porn site."

"No you're not. I'm going to erase everything."

"Then why am I here, Sherlock!? May as well not even be here if you're getting rid of the evidence." 

"Ive already told you: Tax evasion, fraud, possible money laundering. Dull, yes, but the charges will stick." He said nonchalantly while reaching behind to unplug the computer and take the CPU from the wall and walking toward the exit. 

"I'm a detective, Sherlock! Not a VAT man!" Lestrade called after Sherlock who shrugged and kept walking out onto the street. John rushed after him in time to hop in the cab Sherlock flagged down.

"Baker street." Sherlock told the cabbie and sat back into the chair with the camera man's CPU in his lap.

"Do you want to tell me what THAT was about, Sherlock?! Don't you want him to answer for what he's done to Molly and Janine?"

"He will." Sherlock answered.   
"And how, exactly, will that be when you're holding the bloody smoking gun in your lap!?" 

"He'll go away for fraud or tax evasion or money laundering what difference does it make why he's in jail on paper? It's not child pornography or rape videos, it's peeping. I assure you, John, a jury will not be infused with as strong a sense of personal justice as we are. Tell me, John. How would making the charges public and the video, Molly and Janine aren't even aware exists, Exhibit A in a trial to be seen by a judge, jury, barristers and any other looky-loo that happens to be there, helping them? The camera man will see jail time so all we can do now is damage control. I will do what I can to make sure that no one else ever sees this. And that Molly never knows." 

John stuttered a bit before realizing he had no rebuttal. Sherlock was right. Damn it if Sherlock wasn't always right! They rode in silence most of the trip. When they arrived at Sherlock's flat he turned to John. "Mrs. Hudson's lights are out. Mary's gone home. I have work to do. I need quiet, You may as well join her." He paid the cabby and gave him John's address and turned toward the door without another word.

"Sherlock." John called from the rolled down window of the cab. "You're a great man." He smiled admiringly at his best friend as if he'd just realized something. "I think you might even be a good one." 

Sherlock halted in his tracks and turned around with an expression John had never seen on Sherlock's face. He seemed genuinely... humbled.

"Thank you, John." He responded with raw sincerity. After a long pause that John recognized as Sherlock getting lost in a reverie, he interrupted, "Right well... Good night, Sherlock." "Yes, right. Good-goodnight, John. And Uhm... Thank you. For, you know, everything." "Anytime." He smiled warmly and the cabbie drove off. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I straight up adore Sherlock and John's bromance. I think they both make each other better. They would probably both be dead in a ditch at the ass end of East Jesus Nowhere if they didn't have one another to fight with and for.


	4. Out to Dry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confession is not always the balm of the soul.

"And if you look here, you'll see the evidence of cellular degeneration." Molly said leaning over the gorgeous woman peering into the microscope. She was Indian, skin like warm caramel, long black hair that fell in smooth curtains like silk. Head to toe, she was just lovely with full dark lips and topaz eyes that sparkled whenever she looked at Molly. "Fascinating!" She breathed and Molly grinned inwardly. She'd met Madhuri in the anatomy section of a book store and they instantly hit it off.

She'd been more active in the lesbian/bisexual circuit since her split from Tom. She didn't want a relationship nor was she looking to get into one. But Madhuri was beautiful and funny and the sex was quite good, very good, actually. 

Molly made it clear this was casual but still felt a bit guilty that she might be stringing her along. There was an emptiness lingering moments of the afterglow when they lay together, tangled and spent after sex that Molly felt Madhuri was expecting her to say something; To express some feeling she didn't have. She felt guilty, but not guilty enough to stop seeing her. Maybe she should feel ashamed of using Madhuri this way but it had been good for her, and Madhuri seemed happy enough.

She was a sixth year med student, she and Molly had a lot in common. She could at least talk to her about desiccated flesh and make morbid jokes without her running for the hills. She was a few years younger and unlike Molly, Madhuri was a lesbian and had been out much longer than Molly. Another thing that sometimes worried her. Madhuri might have more long term aspirations and Molly, well Molly just couldn't see herself spending the rest of her life with another woman. Not as it stood at this point in her life. Not even a stunningly gorgeous, funny, warm and immensely bright woman like Madhuri.

Madhuri stood from the stool and turned to Molly. They were standing close enough to brush noses. Madhuri slid her hands around Molly's waist and brushed her lips over Molly's neck the way she knew she liked.

Molly's hands went instinctively to the back of Madhuri's head, tangling her fingers in her silky black hair and sighed. "Not forever" Molly thought, "But good for now, and that's ok." Madhuri lifted her head and pressed her lips to Molly's. Who responded by ghosting her fingers down the creamy skin on the backs of Madhuri's arms as she shivered and parted her lips to deepen the kiss. There embrace was short-lived as they were interrupted by the sound of the door swinging open.

"Oh Uhm, hello, Molly sorry, I'll just-" Sherlock stuttered and acted as if he didn't know where to look. Molly furrowed her brows. Since when did Sherlock care if he walked in on people snogging?

She expected biting cynical remark, not an apology. "Don't be silly, Sherlock we were just-" Madhuri cleared her throat and spoke up "Actually I was just going. Later Molls, and thanks for showing me those slides."

"Oh...Yeah, no problem, later!" She gave her a brief hug. Madhuri strode over to Sherlock. "Nice to meet you, Sherlock. Molly has told me so much about you." Her voice was a bit forlorn as she said the last sentence but she offered her hand to shake. He obliged, shaking her hand and saying "Very nice to meet you too, Uhm..." "Madhuri" she supplied.

"Right, of course, Madhuri very nice to finally meet you." He said as if Molly had discussed her with him before. She hadn't, but it seemed like the done thing. Especially considering how she appeared chagrined over having heard so much about him.

Madhuri smiled, looked over to Molly. "I'll call you later." Molly nodded. And with that she exited through the swinging doors of the lab. 

There was a long pause. Molly seemed content not to speak but Sherlock broke the silence, "Well she seems really-"

"Whatever you're going to say, Sherlock, I don't care." She cut him off.

"I was just going to say she seems nice." He replied. "Oh..." Molly paused. "Thanks. Yeah, she is nice."

 "So... You have a... Girlfriend now?" Sherlock asked while unpacking an accordion file, not looking at her and taking pains to seem casual. 

"She's not my girlfriend." Molly said resolutely busying herself with categorizing slides.

"You don't have to lie to me, Molly. It's fine. It's all fine." "No, I know." She replied "I mean, yes I'm seeing her but she's not my girlfriend. It's just, you know, casual." 

Sherlock furrowed his brow in puzzlement. "Are you certain?" 

"Yes, why?" She asked trying not to fidget as the direction of this conversation became anxiety-inducing. "Isn't it obvious?" He scoffed. "Not to me, Sherlock." 

Molly tried to maintain an even tone of voice but it was colored with exasperation. "Pupillary dilation, vasodilation in her face, and elevated heart rate. I could practically see her jugular pounding through her neck. Molly, she's in love with you." 

His words cut through the air and seemed to hang there, anxiety levels ratcheting to a palpable level. Molly's mind played his deduction on repeat: Molly, she's in love with you. Molly, she's in love with you. Molly, she's in love with you... His words and all their implications crashed down on her like a wave.

"SHIT!" She practically screamed, face twisting in an expression of pain. She sat down hard in her stool covering her face in her hands. She fought the urge to cry.

"What's wrong? Did I-" "No Sherlock, it's not your fault. It's mine. How could I be so stupid, so-so SELFISH!?" 

Sherlock was at a loss as to what to say or do. He only knew he wanted desperately for Molly to stop crying. He stepped toward her and tentatively took her in his arms. She accepted his embrace and buried her face in his chest. He brushed a stray hair behind her ear. "I'm just going to have to tell her I can't see her anymore."

There was a pregnant pause. Molly was lost, clinging to Sherlock like a lifeline. He pulled her into him closer, holding her tightly, willing her to stay in the moment. Pleading with everything inside him that she take no guilt or pain from whatever scraps of happiness she was able to scratch out of this bastard of an existence. That was something only Molly would do. Molly was a being of singularly pure motivation in all things, and she'd been chewed up and shit out by life for her trouble.

"Are you happy when you're with her?" He asked, he was sincere and hopeful. Wanting to offer any sort of comfort he could.

"Sometimes." Molly confessed. "But there's still something missing. It doesn't fit. I can't feel for her the way she feels for me." Molly began to wonder if this was some sort of penance she owed for burdening Sherlock with her own unrequited affections.

"Can't? Or won't?" Sherlock asked quietly. His voice was husky, almost trembling. Molly looked up at him, her eyes carried the question before she even spoke"Can't. If I could, why wouldn't I?" She searched Sherlock's eyes, grey and blue and with flecks of green, laden with so many unspoken words trying to force their way out that she was not able to even begin to unravel.

Sherlock cocked his head to the side with an open, tender expression as he spoke, "Because your work is important to you and people depend on you, and you're not sure you're enough for both without letting someone- everyone down. Because even if you know you could love someone, doesn't mean you know how to love them. And having love also means you may one day lose it. So you decide it's best not to risk hurting yourself or someone else. Especially if it could mean hurting the person that matters. The _one_ person that matters the most. Then when you think you have it in you to try, the timing is..." He searched for the word that fit best, "Wrong." 

It pained him to say it, he hated being wrong. Taking her left hand, small and delicate, he curled it in his own. Gently, he stroked her ring finger, now free of the token that had once bound her to another man. The ring that had once threatened to take her away from him.

Molly was breathless. Sherlock never broke eye contact with her as he spoke. She noticed his pupils were blown back as soon as he took her in his arms. She slid a hand down his arm, clasping him by the wrist, she lifted his hand to feel his pulse. He closed his eyes at her actions, understanding fully what she was doing. It was hammering against her fingertips with a frightening amount of force.

He opened his own eyes in time to see the realization dawn in hers. His breath hitched as he tried to speak, "Molly, I-"

She rose up on her toes, pulling his face down to hers she pressed her lips to his. Frozen for a paralyzing instant, the last of his resolve visibly fell and he gave himself over to her, receiving her kiss and giving back in kind, with an expression of both pain and release.

He was the first to bridge the gap and search the crease of her lips delicately with his tongue, tentatively requesting admittance. She welcomed him unreservedly twisting her fingers through his hair, gripping him as if she feared he would disappear.

He responded in a similar fashion, gripping fistfuls of her lab coat behind her back. They pressed close, so close he could feel her heartbeat slamming against his chest as his own did the same. It felt as if it would burst from his chest to join it's twin that resided within hers.

The moment was equal parts soaring joy and crippling fear. It was right. Absolute bloody perfection, that sunk into the core of him like a stone and burst like fireworks in his chest. He wanted to melt into her to be a part of her just as much as he'd always felt she was part of him. But he also desperately wanted to break away and run as far and fast as his legs could take him, never ever looking back. While the battle raged on between his heart and his mind, his traitorous feet rooted themselves there.

The moment was shattered when the lab doors swung open again, this time purposefully loud. They broke away to find Madhuri was standing in the middle of the room. Hurt etched on her face, she practically radiated anger. Snatching her jacket from the the work top where she'd forgotten it from earlier. Silently, she turned to walk away.

"Madhuri, wait!" Molly called stepping toward her her hands raised in the same gesture of submission Sherlock had seen so many criminals make when caught.  
Madhuri laughed bitterly "I don't know what I expected, Molly. My friends told me this would happen and I didn't listen."

Storming off, Molly chased her down the hall to the stairwell. Madhuri was not going to risk waiting for a lift. Instead she sprinted up the steps to avoid her pursuer. But Molly was close enough behind to  catch her by the elbow spinning her around so they could speak face to face.

"You don't understand. I love him!" Molly's voice betrayed her desperation for Madhuri's understanding, for some glimmer of absolution. Instead she was hit with an expression of disgust.

"Of course you do. You're just any other pathetic straight girl shagging dykes to make herself feel better about the man she can never have. I didn't want to think you could be such a stereotype!" She spat.

"I'm so sorry. I thought I made it clear what this was when we started." Molly's voice fell in a defeated whisper.

"You're right. I'm the stupid one for looking at you and thinking you were worth the trouble." She broke Molly's grip on her arm and continued up the stairs leaving Molly stuck in her her own spiral of guilt and uncertainty, reeling from the sting of Madhuri's harsh words.

Backing against the wall and slid to the floor sobbing into her hands. "What the Fuck are you doing with your life!?" Her mind screamed at her. "Everything you touch turns to shit." She hauled herself to her feet and wiped her eyes. She needed to go back to the lab, back to Sherlock and bask in the presence of someone who didn't think she was a horrid selfish cow. Even if it was just because she would willingly give him anything he asked. Maybe it would be enough to drown out the voice in her head that continued to insist she didn't deserve even that. 

When she got to the lab Sherlock was gone. Of course. She fell apart again. She curled herself into a ball on the floor, crying into her knees. "This is what you deserve Molly. Selfish, stupid, hopeless cow." Her mind told her again and again. She felt weak and powerless, crushed under the weight of her own sense of defeat. 

Hot tears spilling over her face was the only characteristic that distinguished Molly from any of the poor sods that found their way onto her slab. She felt exposed, gutted, empty. Cold and alone, she could just as well be a corpse. What was the difference? Transport, only transport.

She reached inside for her own resolve, scraping the remnants from the sides of her soul, finding just enough to coast home. She would finish her work and go home, seal herself off like a tomb and wait for it to be her turn to be locked away in a drawer. No more fighting, no more reaching for things beyond her grasp. She was finished. Sherlock was right, there isn't enough of her. She isn't enough for both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Molly! I feel guilty beating up on her like this but that's life sometimes.


	5. Choke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock confronts Tom about his involvement with The Camera Man.

It was stupid to go to Molly before the case was over but he felt the need to see her. This whole ordeal made him feel like it was hurting Molly, somehow. It gave him a swirling feeling of uncertainty in his guts and he couldn't take it. Even if she didn't know what it was that was supposed to be hurting her. He needed to know she was alright.

He hadn't expected to meet Madhuri. He hadn't expected that deducing her love for Molly would distress her so much. And he certainly didn't go in with the intention of making that terrifying personal confession that lead to their kiss. But he had, and Madhuri saw.

Damage done.

All he could do now was tie up the loose ends. Maybe it was wrong to leave her there to deal with the aftermath but he honestly didn't believe his presence would have been any kind of help. His being there in the first place had caused more heartache for Molly.

He would finish the case knowing Molly would be protected. And he would go to her, if she would have him, in hope that after all this time she could find it in her to give this, whatever it is they had, a chance.

It was surprisingly easy to break in to Tom's flat. The floor was covered with old takeout boxes, there were unwashed dishes on nearly every surface and laundry laying in disarray about the flat. Even by Sherlock's standards, this flat was a tip.

There were blank spaces on the walls, places where photos were torn down, the surrounding pictures had been knocked askew and he had not bothered to right them. 

So not just slovenly, he's depressed, dents in the dry wall indicated he was also angry. Not forgiving Molly, also not over her. 

Sherlock swept off the cleanest looking seat surface and sat down. He looked so out of place in the dark of the room, his feet propped up elegantly on the filthy coffee table, chin resting on his steepled hands as he waited for his quarry to stumble into his crosshairs. He wasn't there long in the dark. Less than 10 minutes from Sherlock entering the flat, he heard a familiar voice swear while fumbling with the keys in the lock.

Tom screamed and practically lept in the air at the sight of Sherlock's shadowy figure haunting his flat. He could really be quite terrifying if he took a mind to it, at this moment, it was the only thing on his mind. Sherlock contained his smirk, Tom's reaction was even better than what he'd been going for.

"Sherlock Holmes?! What the bloody hell are you doing here!?" His breathing took so long to slow down Sherlock became concerned the man was having a panic attack. Not that he was particularly concerned with this man's well-being, but a panic attack at this juncture would derail his plans.

Tom had been an annoyance from the moment Sherlock became aware of his existence, and now we was more than a mere annoyance, he was an enemy, and Sherlock had never required the belief in a higher power to put the fear of God into his enemies.

"Oh I think you know why I'm here, T-Bone669."

The corner of his lips curled upward into a frightening grin as Tom still struggled to catch his breath. "What!?" Tom's eyes darted around as he failed spectacularly at playing dumb, which was a feat considering how ridiculously stupid Sherlock already knew him to be.

Not to mention sloppy, even if Mary hadn't mentioned a connection between Tom and the cameraman Sherlock would have made the link. Only a few hundred of the porn site's members had IP addresses within the UK, even fewer were local to the London metro area, and only one had Tom's flat as it's billing address.

"Candid Camateurs, really? The collective brainpower between the both of you and that's the best you could come up with?"

Tom gulped hard as Sherlock spoke. "Oh yes, I know about your little business venture. Should have known you'd find some way to supplement your income. Weddings don't come cheap, especially on a sales clark's middling salary. Although, you did manage to cut costs on her ring."

"You!" Tom sputtered "You're the one that got Bernard locked up! You're the one who put that virus on the site!" Tom's breathing finally caught up to him and he found the courage to move from the corner he'd been trying to squeeze himself into. "That virus was catastrophic! Some of the members have threatened to sue! This could ruin me!"

"I'm afraid you're quite mistaken, Tom." The inflection of his voice was practically venomous, his eyes darkened with sadistic glee "This _will_ ruin you." 

Tom exhaled, long and ragged. He was near tears and choking back sobs. 

"Oh Lord, pull yourself together." Sherlock rose to his feet and threw a handkerchief in his face as he crossed the room. Tom snatched it and twisted it in his hands. The feel of it in his fists emboldened him enough to lock down his outburst as he began to seethe at his intruder.

"I can utterly destroy you in any number of ways I can contrive, and believe me, I can be quite _creative_ when the muse descends. I will not hesitate to do so unless you listen to me very carefully and do exactly as I say."

Sherlock began to pace.

"At present, Molly is unaware of your little... project. I am endeavoring for that to remain the case. You-" He stopped pacing mid stride to lift his face toward Tom, "Are never to see or speak to her again. If at any time, for any reason she becomes aware of the video the deal is off and I will come for you." Sherlock leaned intimidatingly close to Tom's face, asserting his dominance.

"You should know now, Tom, that there is nowhere you can run that I will not find you. And when I do, I will break you, and I will enjoy it. _Thoroughly_. Nod once to show me you understand."

It took a moment for his synapses to fire, but once the meaning of Sherlock's words bloomed into full comprehension he nodded swiftly. Sherlock could see the bob of his Adam's apple as he worked to gulp against the nervous knot that had worked it's way down his throat. Sherlock moved out of Tom's personal space as he struggled to steady his heart beat and respiration. 

Reaching into the pockets of his Belstaff, he pulled out his gloves and scarf, winding the latter around his elegant neck and gracefully sliding his hands back into his gloves in preparation to make his exit.

Sherlock's strides toward the door inspired something akin bravery (by far the kindest word for stupidity) in Tom. Like a petulant adolescent attempting to clumsily assert his masculinity Tom took the opportunity to get the last word. 

"Figures that you're only interested in her now that she's a dyke slag."

His words were barely audible but Sherlock picked them up nevertheless, turning on the balls of his feet landing a punch directly into Tom's solar plexus. He moved to double over but found himself pinned to the wall by his throat. Not tight enough to choke, but firm enough to get the message across. 

"You know, I've just thought of a new rule." Sherlock's voice was easy, almost casual but his countenance was thoroughly intimidating, "You are never to _speak_ of Molly again. I would ban you from thinking of her too, but we both know you will think of her until the end of your miserable shit-sucking days."

His grip on Tom's throat tightened ever so slightly as Sherlock wrestled the primal urge to crush Tom where he stood and throw his limp body at Molly's feet like an offering. Much the same way Toby leaves dead birds and mice around the flat for Molly to find after one of his outings.

Sherlock relished the thought while, raging against it internally. For all his vast intellect, emotionally, he felt like some sort of evolutionary throwback. Sentiment was something he avoided at all costs because it made him a neanderthal. All sentiment ever inspired in him was chest-beating and territorial aggression. He found it simultaneously disgusting and exhilarating and it's inability to fall squarely on one side or the other is what angered Sherlock the most. 

Tom's gurgling and petrified expression brought Sherlock back from his reverie, suddenly remembering where he was he reflexively gripped Tom's throat tighter who choked and sputtered, struggling against his hands. Primate Sherlock and genius Sherlock fought on inside is mind palace. Intellect won out in the end and he released Tom taking a full pace back to give Tom room to fall to his knees, grasping at his throat and inhaling deeply with a loud wheeze. Sherlock composed himself, straightening his back and running his hands over the invisible wrinkles on his coat. 

He walked toward the door and turned the knob to open it into the corridor. Before taking the final step out of Tom's flat her turned for one last look. Tom was still red-faced and gasping.

"Hope our paths never cross again, Tom. It will not end well for you if they do." And with that he took the final step outside, slamming the door behind him hard enough to hear the remainder of the hanging pictures slap against the wall and fall to the floor with the tinkle of shattered glass. 

Walking out onto the street he made a mental checklist of the case thus far. Tom was right, the Cameraman (Tom said his name was something like Barney or Benjamin- oh who the hell can remember!?) was now in jail.

The website had been permanently removed but not without, first sending a virus to every subscriber, wiping their hard drives. He had the only hard copy that ever existed and wiped it that night after their confrontation with the Camera Man.

Sherlock was confident his threat was sufficient enough to scare Tom away. It wouldn't do to try and jail him like the other, it would somehow get to Molly. She would ask questions and Tom would sing like a canary just to cause her pain. He would be stupid enough to think that being in jail was the worst Sherlock could do to him. Oh no, it takes shockingly little to bribe inmates into contriving little "accidents" in the showers or in the yard, far away from prying eyes, that would not end well for Tom. But of course, he wouldn't know that, He'd see big thick walls, with Sherlock on the other side and delude himself into thinking he was safe. Sherlock would rather bribe Tom's silence with his life than indulge in ending it, only to risk further hurt to Molly. 

For a final time, Tom had been blessed by the grace of Molly Hooper, regardless of how deserving he may be. That was Molly all over. She saved lives even when she didn't know she was doing it. 


	6. Rectify

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock needs advice. He may have chosen the wrong time to seek it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ”If a woman doesn’t look like a goddess during labor, then someone isn’t treating her right.”  
> -Ina May Gaskin

Although he'd told himself he'd go to Molly when he finished tying up all the loose ends; Here he was, days later, no closer to knocking on her door or calling her than he was the day they kissed. These things required delicacy, empathy, sincerity- all qualities Sherlock pathologically lacked.

He paced the floor, working his hands through his hair to the point of abuse. He'd made an awfully good start on creating dread locks, not that it was a look he was going for. He cringed as he combed his fingers through his hair to untangle it, leaving it frizzled like he'd just lost a fight with a taser. 

There were no "Sorry I bailed on you when your Lesbian lover caught us snogging" cards.

He'd checked. 

And he never understood flowers as a sentimental gesture. Giving someone something beautiful so they can watch it wither and die seems so fatalistic for a message of love. Nor did it seem like a gesture Molly would appreciate. Of course, at this point she'd probably appreciate it a far sight greater than this uncomfortable nebulous distance between them. 

Or maybe it was just him feeling that way. For all he knew she could have patched things up with Madhuri and were back at hers, swirling around each other like some kind of erotic cafe' au lait.

He really hated himself every time he let his mind go there, which was entirely too often. It gave him very conflicting feelings. The images it conjured were... objectively pleasing. But the subject itself was absolutely not objective.

Madhuri is certainly a beautiful woman, and certainly bright and clearly shared Molly's interests. Maybe she even appreciated Molly's truly awful sense of humor. It pained him to think how much more adequate as a partner, and even lover, Madhuri was likely to be for Molly. Who was he to disturb that, if it was a balance she'd struck?

He comforted himself by replaying Molly's words on a loop. _She's not my girlfriend. It's just casual. There's something missing._

Not that he could honestly believe that things could be any different with him but at least it meant there was a chance. At this point he'd be a fool to not try, he'd already gone far enough out on this limb to not see it through, but was at a loss for where to go from here.

Directionless. 

The sensation was unfamiliar and extremely disconcerting. He needed to consult the experts. 

He threw on his coat and scarf, and catching his own reflection in the glass of a window as he rushed toward the door. _Maybe I should comb my hair first._

 

* * *

 

Mary groaned deep in her bottom of her throat as she swayed through her latest contraction, making soft figure eights with her hips. It was a move she learned in prenatal yoga and she found it extremely comforting.

They weren't coming close together just yet. Uncomfortable but manageable and she insisted John try to finish his shift at the clinic before rushing home. She would let him know if anything changed.

It wasn't a question of whether or not this was real labor. It definitely was. But this being her first and her advanced maternal age meant this labor would likely be longer.

Having John underfoot bringing in anxious energy this early in seemed really counter-productive, and absolutely bloody stressful.

Instead, she texted Anabel, their doula, when the contractions became regular and she noticed the onset of her bloody show, that's what she was paid for anyway. Not even a minute later she received a text back saying she was on her way.

With the traffic at this hour it could be a half hour or longer.  

Mary inhaled deeply as the contraction passed and went back to mixing the ingredients for groaning cake. It was a recipe that her mother had taught her and it was traditional to make it during labor, as the aromas were comforting and it was very nourishing for the postpartum recovery period. It gave her something that made her feel connected with her own mother, something she desperately craved as she transitioned into motherhood herself. 

The batter was finished and she leaned over the bowl, inhaling the fragrance deep into her lungs: Cinnamon, apple, molasses, dates... just heavenly. It would be even more amazing once it was baking, filling her home with warm clouds of delicious fragrance.

She waited for the next contraction to come and go before pouring the batter into the pan and putting it into the oven. 

She frowned as she rose up from sliding the pan into the center rack. She'd really hoped that this task would have taken longer, keeping her mind occupied while she waited for her body to do it's job was the hardest part.

She concentrated on washing and putting away the used dishes and utensils before another contraction came over her. She checked her phone. Only 10 minutes since she put the cake into the oven, time was not flying by as fast as she would have liked.

She considered the next task to occupy herself with but her reverie was cut off by the distinct sound of a lock being picked. 

Sighing, she padded silently to the door. 

"You have a key." She stated, abruptly opening the door to find Sherlock Holmes on his knees holding metal picks, a small pick kit unrolled over his thigh, a few more metal picks sticking out of his mouth. Given Mary and John's pasts (and present if they were honest) they understood the value of quality locks.

"I have to stay sharp." he replied by way of an explanation as he delicately replaced his utensils in their individual slots. Then looked up at her, his brows raised and mouth gaping. "Mary, are you alright?" He rose to his feet Immediately examining her heavy fecund torso drooping much lower than it had when last he saw her.

"Of course." She smiled, stepping to the side to allow him inside. He obliged immediately, entering the Watson home in two long strides and immediately flopped onto her sofa. "What if I had opened the door, assuming it was you and it was actually an intruder?"

He shrugged and sniffed the air. "There's cake?"

"It's not ready ye- ahhhhh" another contraction crested over her. She checked her phone: 8 minutes since the last contraction. "Yes! Progress!" She sighed. 

Sherlock jumped to his feet anxiously, "Are you in labor!?" He started pacing, looking around the sitting room. He should be doing something right now shouldn't he? 

"I am. A bit." She breathed in affirmative.

"Should I? I should- I'll text John. I'll call a cab. Where's your bag? Have you a bag packed already?" He was running in circles while Mary tried to breathlessly entreat him to calm down but was in the throes of a contraction that was lasting a bit longer than the others.

"Sit your arse down, Sherlock Holmes!" She ground out as the contraction tapered off. He complied immediately, twiddling his hands and bouncing his knees anxiously. 

"That's better." She smiled as she relaxed into her post-contraction fallout. "Now... Tell me why you're here." She nudged a large exercise ball from behind the sofa, opting to seat herself on it rather than any of the furniture. It would be much more comfortable when the next contraction came. 

"Are you sure you want to be bothered with this now? I could go and come back... Er... later?" He dithered, realizing as he spoke that given the circumstances it would likely need to be _much_ later. 

"No. Stay!" She said a bit too eagerly but then softened. "I'll most likely go like this for hours. I could use something to pass the time. Go on." 

Sherlock squared his shoulders and straightened up as he contemplated how to frame his question. "I went to see Molly."

"And?..." She pressed. "Oh God, Sherlock. You didn't tell her about the video did you?" She groaned as she rocked on the ball, not a contraction just general pelvic discomfort. 

"No!" He snapped defensively. "I went to the lab to see her and she was there with someone. Kissing." 

Mary brightened "Good on her! Did you catch his name?"

"Her name. And yes, Madhuri." He corrected and she gave a knowing nod.

"Right. Well. Still. Good. It's good, right?" Mary had almost forgotten about Molly's recent foray from strictly male, to equal-opportunity sex partner status. It's not something she talked with Mary about. Maybe she wasn't sure how to talk about it with a straight female friend just yet. 

Sherlock said nothing and just gave a pained expression. To which Mary's response was to give a similar expression. At first he thought maybe it was empathy but it turned out to just be another contraction. She rotated her hips while sitting on the ball, breathing carefully in time with the ebb and flow of it's surge. 

"Molly. Kissing a woman. I'm with you so far. Keep talking." She spoke raggedly throughout.

"She- Madhuri, left the lab and Molly and I were talking. There were things said. Molly cried." 

"Oh Sherlock." Mary groaned "You didn't give her a hard time about it did you? It's all new to her. She needs time to get comfortable with this aspect of her sexuality. Difficult as that may be for you to understand." Mary wasn't in any mood to mask her exasperation. 

"What? No! Let me finish." He fought the urge to circle back to the "difficult for you to understand" bit, but tamped that down in the interest of time. He only had so much coherent Mary left to work with.

Mary waved him on to continue but then another contraction took her. This one was much closer than the last and took longer to pass. "How long was that?"

"5 minutes 32 seconds since your last, it was approximately 40 seconds in duration." He fired off quickly before returning to the original conversation. "Then we were kissing and-"

"What!?" Mary gasped. "You were kissing Molly?" 

"Isn't that what I said?!" He grumbled. "Madhuri walked in after a bit and was angry. Molly chased after her and I didn't know what to do so I left." 

"Why?!" Mary shook her head, uncomprehending. 

"She'd forgotten her jacket, I suppose. She was coming back for it." 

"No Sherlock! Why were you kissing Molly?!" Mary was practically yelling at this point. 

"Isn't it obvious?" He crossed his arms and sniffed. 

"Yes of course. But why did you choose _then_ to kiss her? Of all the godawful timing. Of course you cocked it up and ran." She groaned again. This time he wasn't sure if it was a contraction or she was just _that_ annoyed with him.

It was a testament to Sherlock's ability to annoy people, when even _he_ couldn't tell the difference between the pain of childbirth and the general frustration one experienced when dealing with him.

"Then why are you here? Why aren't you talking to her about this?"

"Talking to her caused the problem in the first place!" He snapped.

"No Sherlock, years of keeping her dangling and hurting her feelings caused the problem in the first place. Christ, she essentially left Tom for _you_! Even after everything with Janine. Oh! And the drugs! Jesus, Sherlock, You are brilliant but you can't spot a good thing when you see it." Her train of thought was cut off by the sound of the door opening and a woman strolling through.

"Knock knock! Who's ready to have a baby?!" Her doula, Anabel, greeted while toting a large over stuffed duffle bag.

"Feels like I already have one." She said looking darkly at Sherlock.

"Sherlock, this is my doula Anabel. Anabel, this is my adult baby, Sherlock." She barely got out the introduction before another surge was washing over her, taking her under like a wave. 

Without needing to be prompted, Anabel dropped the bag she was carrying and knelt behind Mary to gently massage her lower back. Mary exhaled with relief as Anabel instructed her to breathe through it. 

"How far apart?" Anabel asked Sherlock not ceasing her ministrations. This time she was very gently running her fingers over Mary's scalp who sighed out her gratitude. 

"Almost exactly 5 minutes." He stated. 

"Ooh moving along nicely, aren't we? Might be time to text John." Anabel smiled. "When was the last time you went to the loo?" 

Sherlock looked baffled by her strange question. 

"She means me, you git!" Mary laughed as the contraction ended. "It's been a couple of hours." She answered Anabel. 

"Think you might want to try?" Anabel asked in a way that was really more of a strong suggestion. Mary nodded and Anabel helped her to her feet.

As she crossed toward the bathroom she called back to Sherlock, "Text John. Tell him he can knock off early if he wants to." Her voice was extremely casual, given the circumstances.

 

* * *

 

John arrived home to find Sherlock watching in fascination as Mary and Anabel make use of the exercise ball to help Mary work through labor. He noted the process that seemed to go like clockwork. Lots of walking, then breaks to try out different positions with the ball while Anabel gently coached her through each contraction. Then Anabel encouraged Mary to have a snack or some water to keep her energy up. 

Labor picked up quickly after Anabel had arrived and it wasn't long before Mary felt like it was time to leave for the hospital. John gathered the duffel and other sundries as they prepared to leave. 

Anabel mentioned something about Mary being in transitional labor and needing to head out if they were going to get to the hospital before the baby arrived. "A bit of gas and air wouldn't go amiss, I'm sure." Anabel winked and Mary gave an enthusiastic nod.

Sherlock made himself useful bringing the car around so it would be waiting at the kerb. Wisely, Anabel kept John busy to meter out his anxiety levels, giving him small tasks or instructing him in comfort measures for Mary.

When the timer rang he took the cake from the oven, setting it on the work top to cool. Mary took several moments to inhale the strong, comforting fragrance, finding serenity even as everyone else seemed to rush around her. 

After loading their luggage in the boot Mary called Sherlock over to her window. She was in the middle of another strong contraction but it didn't stop her from grabbing him roughly by the lapels.

"Listen to me, Sherlock Holmes. You lot are the closest thing I have to a family. Mend fences with Molly, whatever it takes. Do _not_ come back until you do." She gave him a soft affectionate slap against his cheek before pounding the roof of the car with her fist and shouting "Get the lead out, John!"

Clouds of dust rolled up into Sherlock's face as John peeled out in the direction of the hospital. 

Sherlock flipped his collar and strolled in the opposite direction, finally armed with an excuse to speak to her.

 

* * *

 

A life of celibacy was so much more dignified when chosen for a noble reason and not, as was the case for Molly, a desperate measure of maintaining sanity by accepting the inevitable.

Aside from the sound of Toby's purrs while he padded through the flat, the only other noise was the crinkle of the bin bag at her feet being filled.

Lingerie, condoms, sex toys, lubricant-anything she had bought specifically to entice, enhance or otherwise encourage sexual activity went in the bin. Even if the bulk of the items had been forgotten in a dusty shoebox under her bed, and wouldn't really be missed, the gesture was symbolic. 

It was the heap of carefully curated knickers and teddies she would really miss. Oh how she loved the feel of satin and lace under her clothes. Going day to day knowing that beneath her dowdy work clothes, pretty scraps of fabric clung to her most intimate areas gave her a reason to walk tall and smile with secret joy. But they had to go, because despite the joy they were cruel in the hope they gave her. 

She whimpered as she held up her favorite, a silk and lace chemise set the same dark blue as Sherlock's scarf. It had been rare indulgence, very expensive, real silk and hand-made lace. When she passed it in the shop she knew she had to have it. Damn the expense. 

She'd only ever worn it around her flat, beneath her plain yellow dressing gown. Never _for_ anyone else. She bought it with only one person in mind and he had ever shown enough initiative to earn the privilege. 

She eyed the bin bag with a labored sigh. Despite everything she still wasn't sure she was quite ready to bin this one just yet. 

Sipping from her second glass of wine, she rose to her feet and decided that she had to wear this set one last time before throwing it out. 

She shucked her clothes clumsily and stepped into the silky high-waisted boy shorts and the cropped chemise. She tugged her hair free of the messy bun she'd put it in after she arrived home that day. 

Her chestnut tresses fell on her shoulders in soft waves. She sighed as she examined herself in the full length mirror. She wasn't sure she could part with this after all. As she gave a little turn to see the look from behind, she accidentally knocked her wine glass over on the carpet.. 

"Shit!"

She rushed to the kitchen for a flannel and some hydrogen peroxide. If she hurried maybe she could get the red wine up before it irrevocably stained the carpet. She turned the corridor into her kitchen to see a familiar figure hunched over, rifling through her refrigerator. 

"Almond milk? Spirulina? Kale chips?! Molly where's the _food_?!... oh er..." Sherlock rose to his full height taking in the sight of her. And her attire... or lack thereof, rather. He turned his head to afford her some measure of... respect? Privacy? He wasn't certain but it was definitely not because his cheeks were coloring. 

Molly crossed her arms in front of her chest reflexively, blushing hotly. "Jesus Sherlock!" She shrieked. "I didn't hear you come in. Did you uhm...? Do you need anything?"

He shifted from one foot to the other anxiously. "Not really, just came by to tell you, Mary is in labor. She and John are in hospital now." He shuffled his feet and forced himself to look her in the eyes and nowhere else. 

"Oh that's lovely!" Molly smiled genuinely, "Thank you, for telling me." Although pleased with the news she was still a bit uncomfortable standing in her kitchen with Sherlock, in nothing but her frilliest knickers. 

Sherlock tried to diffuse the tension by holding up the jar of spirulina "Food or lab culture?"

"Actually, that's Madhuri's she's-"

"Hindu. Vegan. Right. Well I won't keep you, she probably wouldn't be very happy to see me here." He set the jar back in the refrigerator and shut it.

"Oh I haven't seen her since the day after... the lab. She came by to pick up a few of the things she'd left here. I was meaning to throw all that out. That's sort of what I've been up to today." She gestured toward her bedroom.

"Would you excuse me for just a minute?" She didn't wait for his answer, instead she rushed off to her bedroom to hastily pull on her dressing gown and returned to the kitchen while weaving her hair into a haphazard plait. "I was just going to order in if you're, you know, hungry." Molly was eager to skirt the whole lab incident altogether. As it stood she would be content with forgetting it altogether and her and Sherlock's dynamic return to business as usual. 

He left that day for a reason, or several. Their talk, the kiss, none of it had to mean anything. It was a tense situation and they have been friends a long while, there's been tension between the two of them for a long while and she was the one to initiate the kiss in the first place. There were dozens of ways she could rationalize it, there really was no reason to bring it up. 

"Well I was going to take my chances with the Kale chips but since your offering-"

"DAMN! The carpet..." Molly cut him off, finally remembering what brought her into the kitchen in the first place. Rushing passed Sherlock she bent down to retrieve the needed items from beneath the sink. Sherlock tried desperately not to notice if the globes of her arse were peaking out from beneath her knickers as she bent over. He didn't have to try for long because she bumped him as she swiftly rushed back into her room, arms laden with the cleaning supplies. He debated whether he should follow her but a shriek and a loud thump made up his mind for him. 

 

* * *

 

 

"Molly are you-"

He stifled the urge to laugh at the hilarious sight that greeted him as he rounded the corner into her bedroom. In her rush it appears she'd tripped over a half full bin bag and had fallen- oh what was the humorous American expression?- Ass over teacups. She squeaked and flailed as she struggled to right herself. 

He knelt down to haul her up. She was red and flustered but when he set her to rights she burst into hysterical laughter. He cracked a smile, chuckling along with her. Both kneeling close on the floor, black bin bag between them. 

She laughed until she was red and gasping for breath, leaning into his chest to hide the humiliation on her face. But after a few moments the tone of her laughter shifted and her chest heaved as it became evident that her laughter had morphed into frenzied crying.

Sherlock stilled, confused by this sudden change in the atmosphere. Emotions were difficult for him and he reeled uncomfortably from the swing. He fumbled silently for a moment while he registered the new tone of their interaction. 

"Molly" he breathed, tentatively curling his arms around her, one arm snaked across her back while the other cradled her head delicately, gently lifting her chin to look into her face. "Molly what's wrong?" 

She pushed back from him far enough to look at him while she wiped her eyes with the heels of her palms. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'm just such a mess!" She sniffed.

The feeling of her tears on his shirt front reminded him of the day in the lab. No one had ever relied on him for emotional support before.

Molly was the only person reckless enough to ever attempt to seek consolation from him. While daunting, he found that it made him feel strangely honored that she would even try.

She was right, she is a mess. But so is he. Taken on their own, they were each like a terrifying natural disaster. Like tornadoes of emotional and behavioral detritus leveling every structured thing that stood in their paths. But as he knelt there with her head in his hands he couldn't help but notice, she took the wind right out of him. 

The chaos and noise in his mind quieted as he cradled her, coaxing the chaos from hers. There wasn't enough pressure in the world for the both of them to continue circling whenever their paths crossed. Together they were better. Better versions of themselves. If he had to guess, he would say this had always been the case.

This is why they worked so well together in the lab. They understood each other, intuitively. He supposed he had always known that. He was spoiled on their synchronicity which was why he refused to work with any other pathologist at Bart's, not as if any of them were keen on working with him either. 

Once he'd had a taste of the quiet, orderly peace her presence brought him he could settle for nothing less in the lab, a place he considered to be a second home.

He never considered this dynamic could be anything remotely sentimental. It was too logical, too valid to even remotely resemble what he understood love to be, it made too much sense.

Wasn't he meant to be besotted and irrational? Contrarily, he felt, she elevated his rationale. 

Usually the case was over once the yard had the suspect in custody, but because it was for Molly, he followed the case to it's next logical conclusion. The case had never been simply to catch The Cameraman, it had to protect Molly. That meant destroying evidence and saving her from humiliation and further victimization at the man's hands. All told, it had been one of his more thorough and effective investigations. 

Thinking about the cameraman reminded him of the video.

He had meant to delete that image of Molly, writhing against the wall, sheathed in that devastating blue slip of a dress. He had made attempt after attempt to exorcise the thought from his mind palace. But in his moments of vulnerable stillness, she would come to the forefront of his mind and slide against him, enveloping him in warm softness like his scarf. 

With her so near he could feel her actual warmth, and now, with her little hands clutching him thus, and her lithe narrow fingers raking gently over his scalp. Any erotic image of her he could contrive blushed and shrank with inadequacy. The delicate slope of her face fit so well in the curve of his neck. His large hands cradled the small of her back too perfectly.  

He remembered the taste of her lips, how each of her vertebrae straightened beneath his fingers as she stretched up to reach his mouth in a hungry kiss that day in the morgue. How appropriate that their first passionate interaction had taken place there, where they first met and subsequently spent the bulk of their time together.  

"I'm sorry." She sniffed, breaking him from his reverie. 

 Sherlock looked puzzled for a moment. "For what?"

Molly sputtered. What kind of question was that? She was sorry for... what exactly was she sorry for?  

"I know you to be a reasonable, intelligent person, Molly. Whatever it is you're... struggling with... I'm certain that it's valid. No apologies necessary." Sherlock broke away from her awkwardly, patting her shoulder in an action that was meant to be consolatory but came across as uncomfortable.

Molly's eyes widened as she took in his words. That was literally the most reasoned and logical response anyone had ever offered her in the wake of an emotional crisis. She wasn't sure of what shocked her more, that it came from Sherlock or that she actually found it comforting. Why _had_ she apologized? Was apologizing for her life just her default response to everything? Pretty fucked up now that she took a second to really think about it.

"Damn you, Sherlock!" Molly exclaimed with undisguised frustration. "Why are you like this? What gives you the right?" She pounded her fists against his chest weakly and rose to her feet, defeated. 

Completely baffled Sherlock's expression went stony and he sniffed. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"This!" She bent at the waist taking his scowling face into her hands, stroking it delicately. "You're this man, this genius. You're an utter prat almost always! You swoop in and out of my world and leave a mess, you're cold and cruel. And worse! You don't care! You make me feel... feel just so..." Words failed her in this moment and she merely gritted her teeth, clenched her fists and growled to make her point. "To the point that I think, I can't take anymore of this man. To the point where I can't think of a single reason to keep letting you in my life the way I have."

His eyes narrowed and his lips curled into that cold thin line as he broke away from her grasp. "I understand." He stood straightening, and sniffed moving to turn out of the room. 

"No you don't. Damn it! I'm not finished!" she shouted, stomping her foot for emphasis and grabbing him by his arm to twist him to face her.

He acquiesced, since she didn't actually possess the physical strength to manhandle him the way she was attempting. He turned to her abruptly and they crashed into each other. Chests heaving and shaking with anger, neither of them was quite sure how it happened but they fell into a furious kiss full of clashing teeth as they each fought for dominance. Looking back they would each argue that it had been the other's doing.

"Why do we keep doing this to ourselves?" Molly breathlessly asked against his lips before delving between his lips once more the kiss becoming less forceful and more indulgent. Their movements became smoother and more cooperative as it became less a show of aggression and more one of affection. Signaling and reciprocating a message of mutual need.

"I don't know." He responded against her lips, caging her face in his hands, still unwilling or unable to break away. "It's so stupid." 

"We should stop." She whispered, tightening her grip on his shoulders. 

"Yes. We should. Absolutely." He spoke while looping his fingers around the nape of her neck, angling her head to deepen the kiss as she pulled away. He was confused by her actions as she fled his arms. He gripped her wrist lightly. "Where are you going?"

Molly's forehead wrinkled in worry as she looked up at him. "You agreed, we should stop. You said it yourself, this is stupid." She fidgeted, drawing her free arm around her middle protectively, trying futilely to tug her wrist from his grasp. Instead he pulled her toward him, drawing her into his body and circling her with his arms. "Not this, daft woman! This is brilliant! Surprisingly, in spite of everything else, we're getting this right. _This_ is right. Everything else was stupid."  
  


"I've tried, Sherlock. I've tried so many times to reach you and you, you-"

He cut her off by drawing her in another kiss. "I know. Not anymore."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Groaning cake is a real thing. There are a few variations but they have pretty much the same ingredients. Here's a link if you want to try your hand at it (hint: food makes an excellent baby gift! So step away from that silly gift registry and head to the grocery store instead): http://nourishingjoy.com/nourishing-foods-for-labor-and-childbirth/
> 
> If you're American you may be confused as to why Anabel is encouraging Mary to eat and drink while laboring. The recommendation to abstain from eating and drinking is strictly an American policy. It's based on the very unrealistic fear that a mother may require general anesthesia in the event of a catastrophic emergency, then during the course of her treatment vomit and aspirate the vomit. There is no evidence to support this practice and it is not commonplace anywhere else in the world. Even in the US where 1/3rd of babies are born via c-section, it is not common for general anesthesia to be needed or used. In fact, this policy actually increases the risk of birth by cesarean as it causes exhaustion. Child birth is the physical exertion equivalent of running a marathon. You would be stupid to try and run a marathon on an empty stomach and never taking fluids and it's stupid to do that while in labor. So remember to eat up, drink up, use the toilet often! (try to void your bladder every hour)
> 
> Another fun fact: Gas and Air (or Nitrous Oxide) is the only medicinal pain relief that does not cross the placenta. It is also the ONLY medicinal pain relief that is not commonly offered to laboring mothers in the US. In fact, pregnant women are often (incorrectly) informed that they cannot receive dental treatment while pregnant if the treatment requires nitrous. Every other industrialized nation provides Nitrous Oxide as an option for pain relief. 
> 
> In case you were wondering: A doula is a labor support professional who is specially trained in caring for mothers and their partners during labor. Hiring a doula for your birth is very much like hiring an event coordinator for your wedding. The doula does all the extraneous stuff so the couple can concentrate on bringing their child into the world. I am a trained Labor doula so I'm going to go ahead and own any bias in this chapter.


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